From the Sidelines
by Naranne
Summary: Misty is rapidly becoming a fine young woman, and much to his chagrin, Brock Harrison is finding her increasingly difficult to ignore. ;; One-sided Gymshipping, Pokeshipping. Short, descriptive one-shot.


**A/N: **Oh, angst. Very _short_ angst, though.

Experimenting with this kind of style again. Not entirely sure how much I like this piece.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own this. I mean, seriously. Do you really have to ask?

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When Brock Harrison is a teen, it doesn't matter.

He's sixteen and she's eleven, and they're gallivanting around the countryside like something out of a novel, the two sidekicks to the ten year old hero with big dreams and not a lot of cash. Hormones are thrumming through his veins, and he throws himself after every pretty girl he sees. Every time, without fail, she tugs him away by the ear and scowls, even as he protests vehemently and succumbs to the inevitable patronising smile of the girl he was trying so hard to seduce. Sometimes, he hates her for it. Sometimes, they both get a laugh out of it. Then their hero, Ash, will land all three of them in a tangled mess of trouble, and as the dutiful support crew they work themselves out of it. Through it all Brock leaps to both of their defences, forgetting that perhaps a scant moment earlier he'd been cursing the fiery little girl he now fights so hard to protect. When he looks back, he realises that it was only ever Misty he threw his life on the line for.

Ash Ketchum always knew how to take care of himself.

They grow up, and he's eighteen and they're in their pre-teens.

Brock still chases every skirt he sees, and Misty still drags him away with a scowl.

But now, he's haunted by the vague beginnings of things he shouldn't want and a girl that's far too young, and he exaggerates the way he flirts and smiles and winks at everyone but her. He wonders sometimes if she notices that she's always exempt, and reminds himself that their relationship is platonic and she's only thirteen. If he ever followed that line of thought to its conclusion, it could land him squarely in jail for a crime he'll never commit. He respects her far too much for that.

The pseudo big brother to Ash who never had siblings, and Misty whose sisters filled her with both determination and anger, he watches and advises and guides, and so he knows the moment that Misty begins to fall for him. Ash is dense and they're both young, but even so there is a small part of him that whispers horrid temptations in his ear and says, _You could give her so much more_.

And then Misty leaves, and if Brock is honest with himself, the way he salivates over every attractive woman in sight is both an effort to forget her and to remember her. Max sighs and pulls him away by the same ear, but it's not the same.

It's not until the end of Sinnoh that the last of the original poetic, cliché trio leaves, and Ash journeys on his own into Unova. Brock's matured a little, he likes to think, but where there were once pretty women there is now his studies. Deep down he knows that the enthusiasm with which he devours books is in part due to the fact that he no longer knows what to do with himself, and to the fact that suddenly, they have all the time in the world, and Ash is not there. Except that she stays in Cerulean and he stays in Pewter, and although they write and phone and make plans, they don't see each other for months.

When he finally, _finally _sees her, she's flowered and blossomed and he feels horrible, because he knows that her crush on their juvenile, carefree Ash is no longer just that – even if the feelings remain (for now) unrequited, Brock knows that Ash's lack of feeling does not (and likely will never) dampen hers. Despite this, despite the petite slide of a blush across her cheeks every time Ash is mentioned, the part of Brock that once whispered poisonous, poisonous things to him is now oh so aware of how much of a young woman the sixteen year old Misty is.

And every time she smiles, grins, hits, teases, winks, blushes, laughs, his gut clenches painfully even as his heart beats a harsh, staccato rhythm against the confines of his rib cage.

It's another year before Ash visits and two more after that before he finishes in Unova. Brock knows the exact moment that Ash and Misty become an unofficial item, because Misty is beaming and giggly like she's just morphed into a pre-teen, and when they meet up, she throws her arms around him with a grin. He pats her awkwardly on the back and forces his reluctant muscles into a happy smile – because, really, how cliché – and tells her he's happy for her, because despite everything, he is. But Misty knows him too well, and confronts him, concerned at first and then angry when he snaps, claiming she's making something out of nothing. He immediately feels guilty, and yet for once he doesn't back down from the fight. Misty's eyes are bloodshot and glistening, hurt and anger playing across her face in a red-hot dance, and she leaves with a yell and the slam of a door. Brock resorts to his books to put her out of his mind, but he knows the material well by this point, and he ends up nursing a cup of coffee and staring into the distance, trying to quiet the clamour in his mind and his chest.

It takes her a week to forgive him, and neither of them bring it up again.

Four years later, he gives her away. Brock throws himself into their wedding plans as if he were giving a part of himself away with their union, and he thinks that perhaps he is. He immerses himself in their joy and hopes that it will hide some of the buried pain inside. On those weekends he politely refuses their offer of a relaxing, stay-at-home dinner in favour of getting stinking drunk and waking up in someone else's bed, leaving before the one night stand can remind him exactly who she isn't. Brock does not let himself dwell on the fact that none of the women he beds are red-heads.

Nevertheless, on their wedding day he cannot find it in him to be sad, or hurt, or heartbroken. Despite himself, Brock is nothing but filled with happiness at the wonder his two best friends have found in each other, and when Ash slips the ring onto her finger with a nervous grin, he is unable to stop himself beaming with pride. He dances with her and he dances with Ash's mother, and yet when it comes time for his speech, he cannot finish for being choked with emotion.

He dates, but they're never the same. Brock tells himself he's being irrational, letting himself hold onto something that should have been well and truly buried a very long time ago. The poisonous, treacherous part of him that cajoled and taunted him through all those years, however, refuses to quiet.

And so, he considers it nothing short of a miracle when it finally does.

It's on an ordinary, dull weekend a few years later that he receives the phone-call. Misty is near incoherent, and he rushes to their home in Cerulean, only to be crushed in a vice-grip of a hug by a grinning, teary Misty. He tries to shake Ash's hand by way of greeting, but Ash is having none of it, and the hug that he gets from Misty's husband is just a shade away from being decidedly _not_ very masculine. Brock finds laughter bubbling out despite himself, and lets them usher him inside.

Nine months later, Brock Harrison holds his goddaughter in his arms for the first time.

As he marvels at her quiet, sleeping face and the wisps of soft, red hair dusting the crown of her head, he barely notices the lone tear that makes its sombre way down his stunned, _awed_ expression. Amazed, he tears his eyes from the bundle in his arms to glance at the tired and exhausted – but still beautiful – Misty and beside her, a proud, nervous Ash.

He clears his throat, wary of the emotion fuelled lump he knows he'll have to fight past, and instead of saying, 'It should have been me – I could have cared for you so much better – what if this was our baby?' Brock Harrison says simply, _Congratulations_.

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**A/N: **I need to listen to something happy now. I also couldn't resist the semi-happy ending; sorry, anyone who wanted angst all the way through. *g*

Feedback would be very, very lovely.

Naranne


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